


The Dollmaker

by IoneIyWatson



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 2/3 of the main characters die, Angst, Depressed John Watson, Depressed Sherlock Holmes, Drinking to Cope, Horror, It's not that sad if you dont think about it, M/M, Magic, Major character death - Freeform, Self-Harm, Suicidal John Watson, Will add better tags once I know what to put, it's starts out with a death and ends with another death, losing a child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25441393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IoneIyWatson/pseuds/IoneIyWatson
Summary: John grieving latches onto a makeshift doll that resembles his daughter. There are consequences for having this makeshift doll with him.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1: The Incident

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my first fanfic here. This has been sitting in my drive for years now. So please correct me or tell me if I should put any tags that I haven't yet!
> 
> This story is based on a horror short film called 'The Dollmaker' uploaded on youtube call ALTER. I recommend watching it because it's really short and good in my opinion. But if you don't want to be spoiled then watch it after reading this fanfic.

John laid comfortably next to Sherlock in their bed on a nice Saturday morning. The window cracked open. A slight breeze wafting through the room and making the room cool down and not making it feel too stuffy. Perfect day, he thought, gently smiling.

  
Turning onto his side, instantly swirling his finger in circles on Sherlock's chest. He can feel and hear Sherlock emit a soft hum in content. John pulls Sherlock helping him turn towards him so he can happily and lazily kiss his partner. John snakes his arm around Sherlock and brings him closer as they kiss.

  
They kissed slowly and happily. It felt like time stood still. He can stay like this for the rest of the day and he wouldn't mind at all, hell even forever. Of course, though, he has responsibilities that needed to be done today.

Sherlock smiled through the kiss knowing what he was thinking about. He then curled into John and nuzzled into his neck. Pulling the covers up closer to their chins. The warmth they created engulfing them two wonderfully. John groaned, knowing what tricks Sherlock was playing at.  
He knew that Sherlock was trying his best to make him forget about said things that needed to be done and taken care of. And he was definitely winning.

  
A while later they were still kissing and holding close to each other, they heard a knock. Sighing John pulled apart with his lover whining when he lost contact. They knew who was about to walk through those doors in seconds.

"We should probably start locking our door."

"Piss off. You know you don't mind, you love her." John chuckles out.

Sherlock rolls his eyes at John smiling. John smiles back and leans in and quickly pecks his lips. He lays on his back and closes his eyes. He was going to pretend to sleep, so his little lovebug can ‘surprise him’.

Rosie struggles a little bit at first but finally manages to open the door. In came the almost six-year-old girl. He heard the door close and then small steps and when he heard the small, "Shh." He imagined Rosie holding a finger up to her lips, telling Sherlock to not make any noises.

  
In queed John deciding to snore loudly and breathe out a whistle. This then caused Rosie to laugh quietly and almost caused him to lose his composer of feigning sleep. He felt Sherlock moving-probably lifting Rosie up-then feeling Rosie in the middle.

All of a sudden, there was jumping happening and John opened his eyes swiftly.

"Boo Daddy!" Rosie yelled, laughing and falling down onto the bed. She scrambled to her knees sitting up and still giggling at him.

  
John laughed, looking lovingly at his daughter and then looking to his side to see Sherlock smiling and rolling his eyes tenderly. Rosie just kept giggling and launched herself on to Sherlock and onto him, small feet kicking his sides.

For the past few days Rosie kept coming to their room. John just assumed it's because her birthday was at the end of the week and she was getting bloody excited.

"He said we can scare you today," Rosie said, trying to sit more comfortably between them.

  
"That was supposed to be a secret between us Rosie. I've been betrayed, oh my heart!" Sherlock dramatically said, placing his hand over his heart and leaning back. His other hand then joined his face covering his eyes. She giggled again and proceeded to tell Sherlock that she didn't mean it.

  
He sits up and begins to shout in a happy tone. "I should be the one feeling betrayed! My two favorite people tried to scare me awake!"

  
"In Rosie's defense, I wanted her to actually scare you awake but she said no. So technically she didn't betray you entirely."  
  
John lifts Rosie onto his lap and hugs her tightly. "Thank goodness my lovebug wouldn't do that to me."

Rosie scrunches up her nose and giggles again. John turns slightly and swats at Sherlock, pulling away once again to hug Rosie.

John sat back letting this scene in. He can feel the soft sheets surrounding his family and him as his daughter moved over to Sherlock. This felt like a nest to him. Safe and away from the world. He can hear Rosie laughing with Sherlock. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from this happy space.

  
This brought on John to reminiscing on everything. He thought about Rosie, Sherlock, Mary, about many more people who made an impact on his life. He never really stopped to cherish and appreciate but this day he felt like he needed to. If he had a mind palace like Sherlock, he would be filing this sweet moment and never forget it for all eternity. Though he didn’t need a mind palace for that.

He then starts to tune in when she begins to remind them that it's almost her birthday. He smiles slightly shaking his head on finally focusing again and hearing his husband and his precious daughter arguing now.

The room went comfortably silent for a second until they all heard Rosie's stomach grumble. John clicks his tongue annoyed. She was beginning to have a habit of not saying when she was hungry or not. "Sorry, I fo'got." She says looking up at John.

He's been telling her that she has to tell them when she's hungry and can't ignore her hunger in favor of doing something else. That she was a growing child and needed to eat. That even if Sherlock does it, doesn't mean that she should.

"It's alright Rosie but remember that you need to eat. Come on, let's go into the kitchen and see what we can eat. But first, go wash up."

With that, John lifted Rosie to the ground and she went to open the door. She ran to the bathroom and pulled out a little stool for her so she could reach the basin to wash up.

John sat up reaching for the sweats and plain white tee that was on the floor by his feet. He stood up and quickly changed into those. He knew that eventually he’ll have to wash all the clothes but maybe he could get Sherlock to help him. He turned to see Sherlock pulling random staying-at-home clothes out of the draws. Which were just a gray tee and pajama bottoms. Then to pick up his brown cashmere robe from the ground.

John smiles at him and walks out hearing footsteps right behind him. John into the kitchen. John sees him go towards his microscope, going over his notes that he did yesterday.

"Sherlock, can you please eat something without me telling you or in front of her? Once we kick this habit you can do whatever again. But she needs her nutrients. I swear she's becoming you more and more as each day passes by." John huffed at the end, going through the fridge to see no food.  
  
"Fine, I'll eat more around her. And I'll take that as a compliment. I'm a fine specimen to be, for your information."

John holds an empty box of cereal and goes over to him. He just exhales and decides to not argue with him today. John throws his arms around Sherlock's waist and pulls him towards him. He presses his lips onto his cheek leading down to his neck. Stopping at the top of his collarbone.

"That you are. But anyway." John stops and pulls back to shake the box of cereal in his hand.

"We have no more food. So I'll go around the corner to the market and buy some food for the rest of this week. I'll take Rosie with me. While I'm gone you can maybe move some of these things out of the way so we can find room to put the groceries and wash the dishes please."

"Sounds tempting," Sherlock said, quirking his brow up trying to rebuttal with John.

John rolled his eyes and then had an idea. He puts the empty box on the table and leans fully into Sherlock. He hooks his arms around his neck and pulls him down. His mouth pressing closely into his ear. Seductively he speaks. "Hmm, that's a shame. I was thinking about what you said earlier and I was going to lock our door tonight. But I guess we don't need to since I'll be doing a lot of cleaning tonight. Oh well, what can we do?"

To add full effect to what he said, he kissed his jaw and pulled back. Forcing himself to act as nothing happened. He turned towards the stove to fetch the kettle to put water in for tea. After putting the kettle full of water back onto the stove and turning it on. Only then did he decide to face Sherlock again.

  
John noticed that Sherlock's cheeks were flushed and his Adam's apple was bobbing up and down.

"That's not fair." Sherlock huffed pulling his robe tighter around his body. Then he crosses his arms in anger.

John just laughed and turned around to hear his daughter walking down the hallway towards the kitchen. Rosie came walking in looking ridiculous and yet adorable as ever.

Rosie spun around, trying to show off her outfit. "I spilled water all over my clothes. So I went to my room to go, change dad!" Rosie threw her hands up into the air and did another twirl.

John just smiled and looked at the outfit she chose. She had a headband that had two antennas on with poms at the end of each one. She then wore a pink puffy skirt with polka-dot tights. Her shirt was also pink, almost the same shade as her skirt. And then she had yellow bee wings on. She looked ridiculously adorable.

"Look who's a bee today Sherlock!"

John crouched down to straighten out her wings and her headband. He grinned at her outfit.

"I'm a ladybug obviously daddy," Rosie said beginning to pout.

"Obviously, of course, my mistake. Hey, lovebug. We're gonna go to the market around the corner to get more food. While we're there Sherlock is going to clean up a little and do some research when he's done. If you want, you can stay with him. Hm?"

  
He gave her the option of staying with Sherlock. He's pretty sure Rosie can keep him out of trouble for at least a while. As he thought of that John chuckled to himself.

"I'll go with you, daddy."

John stood back up and began to walk in the living room. "Well let me help you put on your trainers and we can leave now."

John went and fetched Rosie's trainers as Rosie herself sat on the couch, with her feet dangling off. She pointed up at her light-up trainers and he obliged. Right as he put them on she jumped off the couch and headed towards the door. John grabbed his wallet that he left on the kitchen and kissed Sherlock's cheek saying he'll be going.

"Bees are better than ladybugs!" Shouted out Sherlock, snickering because he heard Rosie gasp. John just rolled his eyes, not wanting to hear this argument again. Although it was adorable seeing Rosie trying to stand her ground and bicker back at Sherlock. Only the braves were ever to do that and Rosie was one of them.

"Wrong! Ladybugs are cooler and betterer!" Rosie exclaimed to her other parental figure. As she was about to try to explain why John got in between them and spoke.

"Okay, you two. We can debate this later. But right now we're going out." John smiled, grabbing hold of Rosie’s hand and led her back out the door.  
  
John walked through the small isles contemplating if he should buy what they needed for today or buy in bulk to last for the week. He went with the former and decided to not buy everything now just so it wouldn’t take them forever. Rosie was in front of him just babbling on about everything she saw around her. John smiled and told her to turn so they can buy a small carton of milk for the cereal.

After the few essentials were in the basket they went into the checkout and bagged everything up.

They continued to slowly walk back home, in no hurry. He could go for coffee and he's pretty sure Rosie would say yes to any sort of sugary drinks and probably a few biscuits. So as they turned the final corner to their street, John mentioned that they were going to Speedy's Cafe to get drinks.

Rosie squeezed her father's hand and happily jumped up and down.

When they entered John put his bags on an empty table and turned towards the counter. Rosie kept jumping to see if she could see Mrs. Hudson in the back, behind the tall counter.

“Relax love, she’ll come out in a second,” John said looking down at Rosie.

Out came Mrs. Hudson and she came around to greet them both. It was bordering on noon and said she was off to go back into her flat to rest up a bit. She grabbed a scone from a petri dish wrapping it in a napkin and giving it to Rosie. She pinched her cheek and stood straight up again.

John gave his order to the new employee that Mrs.Hudson introduced. Then moving slightly away, turning to continue to talk to her.

After a few minutes of chatting she left and John was still waiting for his order. Since they were practically home, he wasn’t too mad about the wait.  
Upon receiving his coffees and small chocolate milk, John went over to an aisle where there were sugars and creams. He felt Rosie tugging on his trousers while adding more sugar to Sherlock’s.

He just told her to wait a minute while he got everything settled. Such as the bags and sorting out on how to hold the drinks without dropping them.  
Rosie didn’t want to stay inside any longer, or at least not in the shop. She wanted to be outside or with her other dad upstairs and finish the fight about ladybugs being the best compared to bees. Noticing her dad jiggling the bags into one hand Rosie slipped outside and followed the butterflies that she saw passing by the window. When all of a sudden she was standing in the middle of the road and a car was coming right at her when she finally looked down.

* * *

It was highly strange that there was no traffic on this day when usually there was. There’d be at least a few honks of cars going by each other in a hurry trying to get back to work or whatever their busy lives entailed. So assuming this, the driver took this opportunity and drove faster than what is the speed limit on Baker Street.

* * *

John heard the loud screeching outside and people screaming outside when he turned and looked around to find Rosie. His stomach dropped, having a sick feeling and he ran outside. Outside he saw Rosie lying in the middle of the road blood slowly pooling around her. Sherlock was also running towards her but closer than he was. He was yelling for people to call the ambulance.

They reached her and John bent down going into doctor's mood. She barely had a pulse. It was slowing down just how he felt his body and view of the world was doing. The guy who was driving the car leaped out of his seat and quickly left the car and went up to them. He took off his hat and started stuttering. "She-- She appeared out of nowhere."

"So bloody god help me get him to stop talking to us or I will kill him right here," John barked out, not removing his eyes off his daughter.

Sherlock just glared at the guy. Somebody from the crowd told them that the ambulance was coming any minute now.  
John didn't try to move Rosie much, to not do much damage but he did put pressure on the gash that she had on her leg. She looked all scraped up and horrible. Tears were escaping John's face. Sherlock was trying to keep Rosie awake by talking to her and telling him how they were going to do a bunch of things.

Rosie struggled but choked out a few words, "Daddy... Pa... Saw a pretty butterfly... Wanted to catch... Sorry, don’t…Mad..."

She was beginning to close her eyes when they heard the sirens close by now, screeching abruptly.

“Sweetie we’re not mad. Just keep your eyes open. Please…” Sherlock said ending with barely a whisper.

While Sherlock was saying this John began to talk out and scoot ever closer to her. As if shielding her from the world at the moment could reverse the situation they were in now.

"No no no no lovebug. Keep your eyes open baby. No no no just keep breathing," John said raggedly.

He turned to see the paramedics running out the vehicle and towards them. He sighed in relief that they were finally here. In a second the relief was gone and the worry and panic came crashing down on John once again.

Taking a deep breath, he backed up to tell the paramedics he was holding onto a gash that was heavily bleeding. They went to access that first before they began to move her little pale body.

The paramedics put her on a gurney and moved towards the ambulance. While John stares at the floor for a second feeling like his breath was taken away. He couldn’t believe what was happening, he didn’t want to. Sherlock tugged on his arm to pull him up so they could follow the paramedics into the ambulance.  
Sherlock told them that they were their guardians and will be riding with them.

They nod and let them hop on. John stood still tears still slipping out while staring at his daughter watching them work over her.

He couldn’t help but at that moment felt like he was back in Afghanistan fighting for his mates and his lives. To be dragging them away, with limbs missing and blood everywhere. To when he got shot and thought he wouldn’t last any minute longer. He especially felt like he couldn’t last any minute longer just staring at them and his daughter lying helplessly in these paramedics' hands to keep her steady until they gave her over to the doctors.

Hands soon gripped onto his hand he was pulled back into reality. He wasn’t imagining his dying comrades next to his dying daughter. No, there was no one there on the gurney next to her.

They were arriving closer to the hospital, called out the driver, and told them to prepare so they can quickly roll her to the emergency room.  
John began to focus on them asking questions to help notify the hospital on such information. Sherlock stuttered out the response. Then they asked if they saw what happened and Sherlock also said yes when John shook his head no.

“I saw these butterflies and before she passed out she said butterflies, so I imagine these were the same ones. Not the point, uhm sorry. I was playing the violin looking out the window that faces out into the streets and well I saw Rosie and then all in a quick second, I saw her run out into the streets and just— just as she ran into the streets a car came and hit her. It all happened so quickly because as soon as I saw her run and the car, I was running outside.” Sherlock said, tears falling down his face.

John turned his head looking down at her bloody figure. He reached out, not looking for Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock noticed what he was doing and grabbed onto John’s. Both squeezing each other as if that would do anything. Within minutes they were now at the hospital’s emergency area.


	2. Chapter 2: Dead Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wanted the world to stop right there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the long wait. I was going to upload weeks before but something personal had happened. I am looking for a beta reader,,, editor?? Either way, I need help editing my chapters because sometimes they can seem so meh or too much.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this mess of a show <3

Paramedics rushed into the emergency room, with John and Sherlock towing behind frantically. As they quickly went into one of the rooms to exam her a nurse stopped them. She told them that she was sorry about what was happening but she needed them to go out and wait in the emergency waiting room while the doctors try to keep her alive.

John almost wanted to say that he was a doctor and should be let in. But that thought let alone made him choke up. The nurse looked towards Sherlock and he nodded understanding that they should be moving along so they wouldn’t be in the way. He placed his hand onto John’s back and the other on John’s arm, maneuvering them where they needed to be.

There they stood, sat, paced, waiting for any news. He didn't expect to be in the hospital emergency room waiting for news on his little girl today or hell ever in his life. Sure, broken limbs perhaps, but this? No, John didn’t ever expect this to happen. Sherlock kept holding onto him, pulled him into a hug. His face hitting his shoulders and feeling Sherlock rest his face into his hair inhaling and exhaling deeply.

They pulled apart. Sherlock sat down sitting on the edge of the seat. He had nothing to say and so he pulled John closer to him, squeezing his hand in small intervals. Time stood still for both of them. What felt like days was probably an hour at most that had passed.

During this time they had only called Mycroft. No doubt there would be a news outlet wanting to cover what had happened especially with the Holmes-Watson’s. If he couldn’t do that then maybe he could get them to not say the names.

John figured that Mycroft had gotten word on what had happened because no ambulance would have been that quick on arriving at the accident if it was called in when Sherlock and John yelled for someone to call. John for once felt-and probably Sherlock felt this as well- that it was good that big brother was always watching.

John was contemplating on calling Harry but decided against it. He put his phone back in his pocket. Everything would be fine. There was no sense in worrying anyone so much at this point. He began a small mantra of ‘everything will be fine’. Until the doctor came out looking grief-stricken. Then everything stopped his jittery legs, his mind, and his breath.

John felt so close to dropping to his knees and sobbing out, not caring about anything in the world. He knew as soon as he saw that doctor's face that there wasn’t going to be any good news.

Everything around him went quiet. His vision began to tunnel, blood was rushing through his ears and he heard nothing but that. John lost it and stumbled back into the chair next to where Sherlock was sitting. Looking to the ground as if it held the answer on how to bring his daughter back, he began to feel nauseous. Closing his eyes to try and ground himself, John reached out to clutch onto Sherlock’s silk pajamas.

Sherlock’s hand laid on top of John’s and trembled. Sherlock was silently letting his tears fall slowly. He was certain that John could barely register the sniffles that he was definitely making. John absolutely didn’t hear the doctor walking towards them and now trying to speak. Not until Sherlock slightly pinched John’s hand to get his attention.

John took a deep breath before exhaling and tried to control himself. Right now he's going to be strong just how Sherlock was currently doing. He will not cry without a fight. He wanted to be strong like the soldier he was. Like a doctor talking to a kid who needed to know they will be okay. He stood and noticed that Sherlock wasn’t going to stand any time soon.

Quickly as the word kid went through John’s mind he made a hitching noise. His throat and nose felt clogged up. Rosie, John though. His baby Rosie. 

"Hello, Mr.Holmes-Watson's I'm sorry to say this but your daughter didn't make it.” The doctor paused himself to let out a breath of air.

He put one arm on John’s shoulder and then onto Sherlock’s. He sighed and looked to the ground. As if that would somehow make it easier for him to give them the bad news. Soon the doctor found the courage to talk again. 

“We tried everything we could but she started flatlining and nothing was happening. The cause of death was brain hemorrhage and we couldn’t stop her internal bleeding. We did everything we could to save her and I'm sorry." The doctor said looking at them, then turning to look at the folder in his hand in his hands.

John rubbed at his face not trying to break down again. A mantra kept coming into his head. Yelling at himself that his daughter, Rosamund Holmes-Watson wasn't dead. _She wasn't dead. She just wasn't._

"Take us to her," Sherlock said swallowing the empty air down his throat. He rubbed his face in his robe, trying his hardest to blink his tears away. He stood and John followed suit.

"Please," John added looking directly at the doctor. Tears were beginning to swell up around his eyes again but they didn't shed.

"As we are speaking they’re closing her back up and cleaning her up at least a little. Then they’ll be setting everything up. You can see her before we take her to the morgue afterwards you guys can tell us what will happen next. I'll have a nurse come get you guys once it's done. Again I am so sorry that we couldn’t do much and I’m sorry for your loss."

John clenched his hands, lifting one toward his mouth and biting on his finger, hand still clenched. Oh, how John felt rage and sadness bursting out of him. He wanted to throw the chairs around. He wanted to do anything to bring his daughter back. To have her breathing, but that wasn’t going to happen and that quickly brought the anger back.

He felt useless, utterly useless, and felt that this feeling was there to stay.

John finally took a look at Sherlock again. He saw that his face was faced towards the ground, his hands clasped together. John walked towards him, unclasping Sherlock’s hands moving them away from each other. He stood between his spread legs when Sherlock finally lifted his head and looked at him.

Tears were flowing down his face. John couldn’t hold back either and just let the tears fall freely. Sherlock blinked at him and latched onto John. Pulling him in closer. John felt his shirt slowly soaking up because of how Sherlock placed his face onto John’s stomach. John unclenched his hands once again and grabbed onto his shoulders. Squeezing the dear god's life out of him.

It was grounding for both of them, John could tell. Holding onto Sherlock the way he was keeping him steady. That Sherlock wouldn’t somehow disappear all of a sudden just like his precious daughter. Oh god Rosie, he thought.

“I saw her, John,” Sherlock whispered into John’s shirt, loud enough for him to hear him say those words.

Squeezing back was all he could do. He didn’t trust himself to speak, but he wanted Sherlock to explain himself. He closed his eyes and breathed in once again. Letting the tears cascade down when he opened his mouth and exhaled.

“I was playing the violin staring out the window. Oh god, Joh- she ran straight into the street with the car zooming right at her. I just keep thinking-”

John couldn’t hear anymore. He had to stop him. “Stop talking. Love, please stop talking for the love of God.”

He choked back a sob that was clawing out his throat. He wanted the world to stop right there. Everything in him felt like it was breaking and hearing his husband say that he saw what happened with his own eyes took him down another notch.

He held on tighter and felt Sherlock snake his arms around his waist pulling him in even closer. They stood like this for another while until a nurse went over to them.

John was aware enough to notice that she was a small old nurse that led them to a room where Rosie was.

There on the table were formal documents so that they could send her down to the morgue. Which meant he would then have to contact a funeral director. But that didn't matter. His little girl was lying lifeless on the hospital bed with a white sheet covering her little body.

John moved up to her and lunged at her small body. He leaned over it and cried profusely. She was dead and there was nothing that he could do. Nothing at all. He didn’t feel any pulse and the tint to her pale face was fading. She was begging to feel all cold as well. John wished hugging her and transferring his heat to her would revive her, but it did nothing.

He felt like his mind and body were disconnecting. That everything felt muted once again. Numb. He knew what was happening yet he didn’t at the same time. It was like he was out of his body and perhaps he didn’t want to come back down. John knew none the wiser.

* * *

Opening his eyes and turning in bed he caught Sherlock asleep for once. Despite the way Sherlock dresses, he’s always the one up before everyone. Except for those few days, he stays asleep because he denied himself sleep because ‘working on a case’.

John turned his head facing the ceiling and his eyes began to blur. It wasn’t a normal day. Everything was different. A whole being was gone, pulled away from him. Never to hear a noise from his precious daughter again. John lifted his arm and he just looked at his hand. He stared at his hand, flexing his fingers, and then clenching them into a fist.

He wondered how he had gotten home. He didn’t remember that. John simply only remembered seeing his lifeless Rosie in bed. The staff then pulls a sheet over her after they separate him from her. After that everything was a blur. Turning his head he thinks that it’s probably for the best that he doesn’t remember. That maybe he can ask Sherlock when he wakes up.

After a while, John rested his arm back down. He blindingly moved around to look for Sherlock’s hand. Few seconds passed and he finally found it. He squeezed tightly and then released. John breathed out that he didn’t know he was holding in until Sherlock squeezed back.

Some small part of John’s brain was scared that Sherlock was somehow going to up and suddenly disappear. Be gone just like his Rosie had. Just how he had done many many years ago at Saint Bart's. But John didn’t want to acknowledge this part of his brain yet. He just wanted to hold his husband close to him and never let go. He wanted to fall apart in his bed with his man and never see anyone else. He too wanted to disappear. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t.

He turned to his side and faced Sherlock. His dark brown-haired man did the same. They were close enough that John could feel his breath ghosts over his face, while he assumed he did the same to him. Their breath merged and it felt like everything around them disappeared. It was gone. Nothing could come over them. Except it did.

This charge that was happening between them wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t electrifying good, it was the opposite. To John, it felt like two people were filled with anguish, sorrow, and heartbreak. It felt wrong to lay in bed, yet there was nowhere else he wanted to go, besides being with his love bug wherever her soul was.

He wanted Sherlock to wrap him up. He wanted Sherlock to use that brain of his and defeat the odds again and bring his daughter back. John himself wanted to do something. Yet there he was laying on their bed not being able to do nothing but letting his tears shed.

Looking face to face, John saw Sherlock furrowed his face pitifully and then unlaced his hand. He reached towards John’s cheek and wiped away his tears. He hushed at him and told him to take deep steady breaths so he wouldn’t start to hyperventilate. He didn’t even know he was crying excessively again.

Hours passed by and they didn’t move much. Sherlock intertwined his legs with John. They somehow scooted closer towards each other. Finally, when John was calm he coughed and spoke.

“How did we get home… I just-- I just don’t remember.”

“When they… When they took our little girl out of the room you started to sob again and I couldn’t pull you back into reality. It felt like you were gone.” Sherlock whispered.

He pulled away to lay on his back to blow out air roughly. John wasn’t sure he was ready to hear what he was going to say. He steeled himself and let Sherlock take his time to talk.

“It felt like a huge part you just broke and died. That you went with her and I didn’t know what to do. Please don’t do that again John...” He said looking away from John.

“You slumped into the chair and kept weeping. The nurses and people were beginning to worry and thought you might need a sedative to calm you down. Mycroft quickly messaged me when they suggested it. He told me that there was a car ready for us out front to take us back home when we were ready.

You didn’t want to leave, especially not going back to our flat at first but one of the nurses who gathered around for your fiasco mentioned that Rosie… That our lovebug wasn’t in the room any longer. It clicked in your brain and you just stopped doing anything. You were in shock by then. We made it back to the flat eventually. And I made you drink warm tea before we just went to bed and slept.”

John took all of that information in and wanted to cry again but he willed himself not to.

John didn’t know what to do. He turned his body laying on his back once again and stared at the ceiling. He didn't know if he was going to survive this. He will try but John honestly thought that this was it. That a black hole will somehow come to him where he can slip into oblivion and die right then and there.

His mind buzzed back to earlier that day. When he was in his room with Sherlock and Rosie. How he didn’t want to leave and just live there and soak up all the happiness he was feeling. He closed his eyes, tears streaming down the corners of his outer eyes and pooling into his ears. He thought he would remember that moment for the goodness and to collect it with more happy memories until they all mesh together. But no, no he’ll make mental space for that memory. The day where his precious daughter, part of his heart, was happy with him and his husband before she left them too soon and never return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you found any mistakes please tell me so I can go back and fix it! Please comment on anything! Thank you and hope you liked this chapter <3


	3. Chapter 3: Funeral Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock couldn’t handle John doing this to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So turns out that I had this chapter written already a couple of months ago,,, With that also being said I hope you enjoy this chapter.
> 
> I probably will take a couple of months to write again. But I swear to almighty God, that this story will be finished. Maybe I'll finish it on the day I uploaded it or on Halloween hehe. If you see any mistakes please correct. Hoped you like this chapter and tell me your thoughts. Have a safe and happy time my dearest readers.
> 
> -D

John kept drinking himself close to death for the week before the funeral. He cried and mourned for his daughter. Wishing that the world had taken him before her. Sherlock cried as well and wished for the same. Though, Sherlock had noticed John was dealing with this worse than him, so he decided to be the strong one for both of them. He held back his tears in front of people, including John. He held his husband in those same nights whispering things that fell to deaf ears. When alone he’d feel his lungs collapse and cry his eyes out silently.

He would, no he _could_ do this for John. He will show him-- and the rest of the world when they inevitably find out-- that he’s holding up as best as someone who lost a child could hold up to. The standards weren’t high, but Sherlock for himself set them up to the roof. Be damned if the only time he could break down was when John and he got pissed drunk out of sadness and guilt or when he was in the shower crying on his knees all on his own.

As the funeral was approaching and they were preparing, that no parent should ever do. John was silent. He just kept his stance stiff as a board and nodded yes or no when asked a question. Had a drink in one hand and prayed that he’d be able to feel nothing. It reached a point that he didn’t feel anything and there was a small reprieve for that.

Close friends and relatives came to their flat to drop off food or cards in condolences. To say their few words on how they were sorry. Then when the internet and the cult-like following of Sherlock’s found out, those people began to visit the scene and put little candles down the street on the sidewalk to make a little vigil in memory of Rosie.

Annoyed that strangers kept wanting to contact them when he needed time to grieve, like someone normal should. John began avoiding leaving the flat. John was sort of glad that Sherlock would outwardly get mad at how others acted towards them. That when some strangers tried to knock on their door to question them or to give them gifts, Sherlock would go off on them.

“As if gifts would help us!” Sherlock would scream at Mycroft or Lestrade through the phone asking if they could get it to stop.

John, in the end, stopped caring for it.

“Let them knock all they want.” John drunkenly mumbled one afternoon after Sherlock told off another journalist.

Yet he wanted it to stop but he knew eventually people will forget while he and Sherlock will forever remember. He sat back in his chair and downed back burning liquor and taking that small comfort of Sherlock getting angry for him. Someone should feel something other than devastating guilt and sadness between the two. It most certainly won’t be him.

* * *

To John, having the funeral service felt like the actual ending of ever seeing Rosie. A small part of him thought that if he didn’t go through with the funeral that Rosie would somehow be right next to him in a split of a second. That’s how it felt like when he was way into his fifth bottle early in the morning. He’d close his eyes, whether on his chair in the living room or in his bed lying with Sherlock. John can imagine, almost _feel_ Rosie’s small hands touch his own. Which causes his breath to hitch and tears to continue to fall.

Everybody around him even before the funeral knew he wasn’t handling it very well. Though they understood, it was worrying to them. People still approached him but more cautiously and while they did he stared off into space when anybody was talking to him. He'd slowly focus on the small closed casket that was placed in the middle for everyone’s viewing.

To their surprise, he seemed like he was fairing very well this day. His eye bags had darkened and deepened which made them more noticeable. Eyes were brimmed with tears and red. But other than that, they were proud of him and told him so.

This caused John to stiffen his back straight up and limp his way around the funeral greeting and accepting their apologies once again. He tried to hold himself back throughout the whole thing and tried not to shed many tears.

He grimaced at his close friends and family when they talked about how bright little Rosie was. How they thought they also saw a little of Sherlock inside of her. John didn’t know how much he could take it, keeping his tears in and not full-on sobbing. Pursing his lips he walked away to the front pew. Everything was sailing smoothly but that was until Sherlock decided to go up the podium and talk.

Everything felt like a blur to him. He just went with the motion and did what he thought he would normally do if he was at somebody else's funeral. He went to go look for his friends to chat with them and sadly let them give out their last condolences for the day. There wasn’t much more he could do than that at this point.

Sherlock on the other hand was talking with Mycroft and Lestrade, about how they should all keep an eye out for John and take precautions. They had informed him that they’ll be keeping an eye on him as well.

“Don’t be an idiot like Lestrade, as well Mycroft. You know I won’t do anything stupid right now. John is hurting and I don’t want to add to that.”

“As you said dear brother, ‘right now’. Lestrade and I are in for the long haul and will watch over you two after time has passed.” Mycroft said, choosing to ignore Gregory’s scoffing.

“Get off your high horse. You don’t need a reason to be watching us. You have been for years.” Sherlock butted in before he gave Greg a chance to talk. 

Greg had let out a long sigh, letting the Holmes boy’s tread over him like it was nothing. He conceded by nodding his head and decided to go along. He didn’t want to start a fight here and now.

As they continued talking Sherlock noticed someone from the corner of his eye. Noticing them had been fairly simple. The somebody had caught his attention because he knew everybody there but him. Sherlock quickly concluded that there was a stranger at their daughter's funeral and he would see to himself that they were kicked out if Mycroft’s so-called security wouldn’t do anything about it.

The stranger looked at Sherlock creepily and vanished around the corner before Sherlock could catch up to him. Sherlock looked around to see if the stranger was still there and hopefully not taking pictures of the funeral. He had made sure to not let a bunch of people come to the funeral. Yes, the paps were out in the front sadly ready to snag a photo of Sherlock or John. There were also others who hoped they could interview anyone who was inside this building.

Mycroft couldn’t exactly stop them because of something called ‘freedom of the press’. Sherlock hopefully thought that maybe his brother can ‘sway’ them to not be so bothersome. So in seeing that peculiar guy turn the corner it was maddening and he had to follow to confront him. When he looked around he noticed a business card lying on the floor. He picked it up and read it out in a whisper.

"Dollmaker: We can bring them back." He then looked at the phone number before he turned the card over, reading the handwriting in blue ink.

“Call when Mr. Watson is ready to see his daughter again.”

Quickly shoving the card into his suit pocket, Sherlock's frown that was set on his face throughout the day deepened. Realizing that he was probably worrying about nothing too important. He decided to lay it at rest for now and to go back to his horrid brother and Greg. 

As he was walking back he turned his head and saw John chatting with some of his old mates. Not wanting to talk any longer with them he chose to go and stand by John’s side. He needed to console his husband. 

He didn't want to worry him at the moment and so he just pushed this encounter in the back of his mind to bring up later at some point to either John or Mycroft. Though most likely Mycroft will be the one to know first. He walked to his husband and put one of his arms behind John's lower back and held it there gingerly and joined in on the conversation that was happening.

There was nothing he should worry about anyway. Just a crazy person probably trying to stir trouble. The trouble that wasn’t worth dealing with in the foreseeable future. 

* * *

The first week after the funeral John did nothing. He didn’t know how he could handle not seeing her, hearing her, playing with her. John couldn’t bear standing in her room for very long. He thought that maybe after the funeral he would be able to get some closure and start the healing process, but he felt that it did the exact opposite. It tore at him

John didn’t eat much. Sherlock forced him to at least eat something which felt odd for both of them. When usually it was John reminding and sometimes forcing Sherlock to eat daily. Nothing was worth eating any longer. Everything felt so wrong to do. John missed Rosie and felt like a piece of his heart went missing.

Eventually, all the food Mrs. Hudson or guests brought them went to waste. Just going stale and bad in their fridge, beginning to look like one of Sherlock’s old experiments he left in there as well.

If he wasn’t on his one seat couch drinking to oblivion. Then the next thing he did was lay in their bed and covered his head with a pillow hoping it’ll block out the outer world. Sherlock preferred when he was in the living room because then he could convince John to take a bite of food at least.

When late at night and John was surprisingly still awake Sherlock would sigh and go to his violin stand and pick up his instrument.

There he would play, at times early into the morning while John just stared off into space. Until the drink in his hand and Sherlock’s sad music lulls him to sleep.

Not bothering to leave the flat any longer. He didn’t even bother to go back to work, yet Sarah was gladly accommodating after hearing about what had happened.

He wasn’t handling this very well as he thought he would be. At this point, he didn’t think he cared enough to try any longer. If Rosie, who was a child, couldn’t live any longer then why should he?

A mess was beginning to pile up around the flat. Sherlock tried to keep things organized and clean but he didn’t exactly do this often with being too preoccupied with worrying about John. In the times he was alone-- that being on his way to pick up cold cases from Lestrade or gathering groceries-- Sherlock became very gloomy and desolate.

He had to remind himself that he was being strong for John and didn’t need to add his sadness to his plate. That he’ll pick his broken pieces up and try to make him better.

Sherlock had done it before and he’ll do it again. 

* * *

John was sitting in the bathtub while the shower head was pouring water over him. It felt like hours and he assumed it was because Sherlock knocked on the door before walking in. Sherlock moved the curtain out of the way to see John just there. He looked up at him, his eyes crinkling because the lights were above Sherlock’s head. He didn’t want to think. He wanted to drink more but when he looked to his left, the bottle standing tall, well, was empty. What once held heavy liquor was now empty dry.

“Get out,” Sherlock said annoyedly.

Sherlock couldn’t handle John doing this to himself. He also thought that if he put any bark into his command John would heed it.

“No. Just-- just join me or leave me alone.” John slurred facing the faucet.

He heard him sigh and heard the rustling of clothes dropping to the floor. He felt his husband enter the shower, hissing at first. He reached forward and could see one of his hands turn the knob. Soon the water started flooding out warm water.

John hadn’t noticed at all that the water he was under then was freezing. Not that he cared, but the water that was cascading over him now felt better.

The pale arm retreated from his vision and he listened to hear what he would do next.

John heard Sherlock sit right behind him. He felt his legs spread and go on both sides of him. Sherlock leaned forward and wrapped his arms around John’s torso. He put his forehead between his shoulder blades and let out a sigh.

They stayed like that for a while. They didn’t need to speak. Everything not being said spoke much louder than the two of them could ever put into words.

They were tired. John needed to stop being a complete mess and pull himself together, but it was hard for him and Sherlock knew. He knew and he would be here for him, as his rock and anything else he needed.

Leaning back, Sherlock grabbed the shampoo and uncapped it, pouring some into his hand. After putting the shampoo back with one hand he went for John’s head. He began lathering John’s hair with the smelling shampoo.

The smell of spicy cedar wafting in the air and taking away the smell of alcohol. He made sure to go gentle and massage his scalp. Hearing a soft exhale, Sherlock softly smiled. Soon his arms began going down towards his neck and shoulders. He began massaging there and John threw his head back. This, this was something Sherlock could do without a doubt and not mess up.

Sherlock knew that John was growing tired and so he rinsed him off after his short impromptu massage. So he turned off the water and stood up. He reached into the cupboards and pulled out a towel to dry himself then another towel for John.

Turning around and holding out his hand to help John get up, and slowly, he rose. John grabbed the towel and wrapped it around himself instead of efficiently drying himself. Thanks to the alcohol he didn’t feel cold at all. They walked silently into their bedroom.

Sherlock went to his closet to put on his ratty old pajamas and his robe. John just turned to look at him. 

He couldn’t help himself with his train of thoughts on being so self-deprecating. That his ever-loving husband had to take care of him. That he wasn’t holding himself up very well when it was just the two of them. He couldn’t be arsed to get ready for bed when all he can think about is not being strong or there for Sherlock as well.

John walked up behind Sherlock and grabbed his hips gently. He kissed his back feeling his breath hitched. They haven’t done anything in weeks. John needed this. He wanted to forget about everything. His drunken mind still wasn’t helping him. He felt Sherlock still and tense.

“Please. Please help me forget right now. I feel lost and I feel like I'm slipping deeper. God Sherlock I-- I didn’t-- I don’t want to feel like this again. ” John whimpered, emphasizing on the don’t.

Turning around, Sherlock searched for his eyes immediately. When their eyes met, John felt like he was looking into his torn-up soul. He looked just as devastated as him and maybe, John thought, that maybe that’s what he looked like at the moment or when others are visiting.

Shaking his head getting rid of any sober thoughts and then John leaned forward. They stumbled backward until Sherlock was against their closet and John’s lips were mere inches from Sherlock’s.

Sherlock caught John’s mouth and began kissing back. Sherlock can feel the tears rolling down John’s face and that broke him so much more. He placed his hands up, cupping his face. He used his thumbs and tried to wipe his tears away while still concentrating on kissing him wholeheartedly.

Slowly they moved from point a to point b, from the closet to their bed. John’s knees buckled when he hit the bed and Sherlock grabbed onto him. Letting him fall backward slowly letting him settle and then him slowly climbing on top of him.

John didn’t want to be in control this time. He wanted to be taken care of just how Sherlock was taking care of him outside of their bedroom. Laying his hands above his head he let him take reins.

He hoped that having sex now will not only relieve his feelings but to help him feel more. To the point where he began to feel nothing and everything blocks out besides Sherlock and him.

Sherlock knew what John was trying to achieve and he didn’t mind. He would give this to the man he loved. To the man underneath him who lost another important part of him. He will try everything to put him back together and not let him spiral any further downwards.

Everything that was currently happening felt utterly horrible and nice at the same time. They didn’t understand it themselves and yet they welcomed it like it was an old-time friend visiting. They both felt this heartache before and they needed an outlet. Something that wouldn’t harm both of them.

Sherlock sat up straightening his back and then looked down to stare at those watery blue eyes. He leaned to the side to grab the lube from their bedside draws, plopping it down beside John on the bed, and then went back to kissing John. Sherlock peppered kisses all over John. Then he reached John’s now closed eyes and held his lips to his eyelids longer. When Sherlock pulled back and licked his lips, he could taste John’s salty tears.

Meanwhile, John stopped breathing and tensed before remembering to relax.

This made Sherlock move his hand to land on John’s sensitive sides, snaking up to roughen up his nipples. He slowly tugged and pinched them, making them hard like pebbles. He went to his neck and left love bites. At the third love bite, Sherlock was leaving near his erogenous zone, John moaned out. It finally brought him out of the daze and whatever world he was stuck in.

Minutes passed by with them holding onto each other and snogging like hell. Sherlock reached out again for the lube that laid beside him before pulling entirely back from John once again.

He slicked up his fingers and moved around. He was now sitting on the side of John. Face looking at him and hands snaking down to first stroke his penis. Took a few strokes to get John fully erect and begging Sherlock to enter him there and now.

When the first finger entered John, his mind went blank. He closed his eyes and only focused on what was happening to his body. He didn’t do this often so having anything in him made him immediately feel full. Soon after another finger was in him, stretching and preparing him for his husband’s cock. He didn’t notice at first him asking for more. To go fast and rough, yet he didn’t regret not voicing what he wanted.

Sherlock’s eyes widened hearing this from him. This was something they both needed. To get their minds off death and the quietness because of a missing child. Yes, they both thought, they needed this and each other intimately. And so they continued until they both were reaching orgasms late into the night.

* * *

Weeks had passed by before John came across the card the crazy mystery man gave Sherlock.

John had finally gotten some small motivation to get up and to go clean the kitchen because dishes and loose papers were piling up everywhere. Of course, there was more part of the flat that needed cleaning but he can do baby steps and start off small. He can already imagine Sherlock being happy that John is slowly coming around. That caused a small smile to graze John’s mouth, the first in months.

As John moved Sherlock’s papers off the table into a box near the table so they wouldn’t come across this problem, a card fell. He bent down to pick the card back up to place it on the now neatly piled stack of papers. When his eyes landed on the words ‘your daughter’.

He stopped and felt like he couldn’t breathe. John knew that he was still in the phase that seeing anything about his daughter caused him to have some sort of reaction and so he couldn’t help himself. He had to cough a few times and to remind himself to breathe to get his breath back in order.

He kept flipping the card and read the same two sentences over and over again as if they were to change into something else. He didn’t entirely understand what it meant but he just knew he’d try anything.

While he was cleaning the rest of the kitchen, John mulled over how he was to approach Sherlock on his discoveries. And wondering if Sherlock would answer his questions and not trying to avoid the questions thinking it would hurt him. John thought that he could maybe just convince him to tell him when he had received the card.

Before taking a seat in his favorite and _claimed_ a spot in the living room, John poured a finger of vodka in his chamomile tea. He sat there and once again thought about what will be happening.

Sherlock was gone all day. Molly had promised the other day that she had some bodies that could be used for experiments this day if he wasn’t busy. Sherlock was going to pass but John knew that he was getting antsy for staying in the flat for far too long and being cooped up. So he told him to go and that he’ll be fine staying in by himself. That perhaps he’ll clean a little bit, and that’s what he did.

Although _now_ John was getting sloshed while waiting for him to return.

John confronted Sherlock almost as soon as he walked through the doors. He didn’t exactly want to start the conversation at first because he heard Sherlock skipping steps and meaning he was possibly happy and had a tale to tell.

Even then, all that went to the drain when his thoughts wouldn’t stop pestering him. John tugged on his belt and began bombarding him with questions.

Sherlock waited till John was done with questioning him and then answered. That’s when Sherlock explained what had happened at the funeral. He told him what the person looked like since he didn’t exactly know who besides the basic deductions he barely got off of him, when the card was given, and where the card was given.

“It's just a joke, John. Someone probably knew when the funeral was just like the rest of the world did and decided to pull this horrid stunt. Or he could also be trying to make money off of us.” Sherlock said.

Sherlock knew he should’ve investigated more but he was too busy worrying about John that he simply just deleted it from his mind and left it at that. Hell, he even forgot about the card when he meant to throw it away.

“And what if it isn’t? I’ve been thinking about this all day.” John pointed out angrily.

John wasn’t sure what he was exactly angry at. He just felt angry and felt like he was justified no matter what.

“Listen, John, We can call but I don’t think it will help us with grieving,” Sherlock said sternly.

Sherlock thought about it and it could give him something to do if John really wanted to get in contact with this man. He’d deduce him clearly as if he were a new case to unravel.

John stared at Sherlock before turning on his phone to dial the number. As soon as he was about to, Sherlock pulled the phone out of his hand.

“You’re drunk. Go shower and sleep, or skip the shower and go to bed. Clear your head and think about what you want to say for tomorrow when we inevitably call.” Sherlock said, pocketing John’s phone so he wouldn’t have access to it.

Sherlock may not agree with what was happening but he’d support John in whatever he wanted. And if he wanted to contact some lunatic then why the hell should he deny it. There was a spark in his eyes again. He will do anything to keep it there.

John grumbled out that he wasn’t that drunk but stumbled to the bedroom to collect his clothes, and then to the restroom. When he exited the shower he asked Sherlock if he'd join him to sleep. Sherlock waved him off saying that he had to put some data into his mind palace and would be there in a while.

“Yes, but you can do that in bed.” He sighed while turning into their room.

“I’m coming then. Let me just turn the lights off.” Sherlock said, smiling slightly.

His John had acted more like himself than he did these past months. Calling this strange man probably won’t be so bad.

* * *

Waking up, John blinked rapidly to clear his bleary eyes. Today he’d call and definitely had things to say and ask.

Sherlock and John did what the new normal was in the flat till mid-afternoon. Sherlock couldn’t handle John thinking way too much about it and asked him if they should call now. John quickly agreed and pulled out his phone.

After dialing, he put the phone on speaker while it rang. And they sat there in silence for a few seconds until they heard the line pick up and a voice speaking out.

“The Doll Maker, how may I help you?” The voice spoke out.

“It’s Sherlock and John, You left your card at our daughter’s funeral,” Sherlock said suddenly angrily when he saw John swallow and tried to speak.

The guy on the other end of the call chuckled before speaking playfully.

“Took you long enough to call, boys.”


End file.
